by W. S. Gilbert

Some time ago, in simple verse,

I sang the story true

Of CAPTAIN REECE, The Mantlepiece,

And all her happy crew.

I showed how any captain may

Attach his men to him,

If he but heeds their smallest needs,

And studies every whim.

Now mark how, by Draconic rule

And hauteur ill-advised,

The noblest crew upon the blue

May be demoralised.

When his ungrateful country placed

Kind REECE upon half-pay,

Without much claim SIR BERKELY came,

And took command one day.

SIR BERKLEY was a martinet—

A stern unyielding soul—

Who ruled his ship by dint of whip

And horrible black-hole.

A sailor who was overcome

From having freely dined,

And chanced to reel when at the wheel,

He instantly confined!

And tars who, when an action raged,

Appeared alarmed or scared,

And those below who wished to go,

He very seldom spared.

E'en he who smote his officer

For punishment was booked,

And mutinies upon the seas

He rarely overlooked.

In short, the happy Mantelpiece

Where all had gone so well,

Beneath that fool SIR BERKELY'S rule

Became a floating hell.

When first SIR BERKELY came aboard

He read a speech to all,

And told them how he'd made a vow

To act on duty's call.

Then WILLIAM LEE he up and said

(The captain's coxswain he):

"We've heard the speech your honour's made,

And werry pleased we be.

"We won't pretend, my lad, as how

We're glad to lose our REECE;

Urbane, polite, he suited quite

The saucy Mantlepiece.

"But if your honour gives your mind

To study all our ways,

With dance and song we'll jog along

As in those happy days.

"I like your honour's looks, and feel

You're worthly of your sword.

Your hand, my lad—I'm doosid glad

To welcome you aboard!"

SIR BERKELY looked amazed, as though

He did not understand.

"Don't shake your head," good WILLIAM said,

"It is an honest hand.

"It's grasped a better hand than yourn—

Come, gov'nor, I insist!"

The Captain stared—the coxswain glared—

The hand became a fist!

"Down, upstart!" said the hardy salt;

But BERKELY dodged his aim,

And made him go in chains below:

The seamen murmured "Shame!"

He stopped all songs at 12 P.M.,

Stopped hornpipes when at sea,

And swore his cot (or bunk) should not

Be used by aught than he.

He never joined their daily mess,

Nor asked them to his own,

But chaffed in gay and social way

The officers alone.

His first Lieutenant, PETER, was

As useless as could be,

A helpless stick, and always sick

When there was any sea.

This First Lieutenant proved to be

His foster-sister MAY,

Who went to sea for love of he,

In masculine array.

And when he learnt the curious fact,

Did he emotion show,

Or dry her tears, or end her fears

By marrying her? No!

Or did he even try to soothe

This maiden in her teens?

Oh no!—instead he made her wed

The Sergeant of Marines!

Of course such Spartan discipline

Would make an angel fret.

They drew a lot, and straightway shot

This fearful martinet.

The Admiralty saw how ill

They'd treated CAPTAIN REECE;

He was restored once more aboard

The saucy Mantelpiece.